


come in closer

by seren_ccd



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10970832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren_ccd/pseuds/seren_ccd
Summary: When they reach the ship, Abigail hears the ring of swords and shouts of men.  She also hears that rasp of something not quite like breath in men’s bodies.Flint hands her a sword and says, “Use it on anyone you think should be dead.”Black Sails/Walking Dead!AU, Abigail/Billy/Vane UST





	come in closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiddencait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/gifts).



> Let's just pretend you don't know precisely who wrote this!!! I hope you like it! I had a blast thinking about this little 'verse and would love to continue it. 
> 
> The title is from Blue October's 'Come in closer'.

In the end, it’s Lady Hamilton who kills Abigail’s father. She tips that wretched clock over onto his snarling, bloody face and after a few twitches, her father’s body stills.

Abigail shakes where she stands behind Lady Hamilton who trembles just as badly. Abigail looks around the dining room and her eyes fall on the soldier who’d staggered through an open door and sunk his teeth into her father’s neck. The soldier’s body lies where Colonel Rhett shot him and in return, Colonel Rhett lies where Captain Flint shot him after Abigail’s father bit the colonel.

The only bodies still standing are herself, Lady Hamilton and Captain Flint and they all look at one another for a long moment before Captain Flint breaks the silence with, “Jesus Christ.”

“What was that?” Lady Hamilton asks. “Good Lord, what was _that_?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t… We must go. Back to the ship. Now.”

Lady Hamilton nods and turns to Abigail, who tears her gaze away from her father’s crumpled form. “My dear, I’m so sorry, I… Your father…”

“No,” Abigail says as she meets her gaze. “That was not my father. I do not know what it was, but it wasn’t him.”

After a moment, Lady Hamilton nods and says, “You will come with us.” She shoots Captain Flint a look that practically dares him to say otherwise, but the man just nods and picks up a pistol, which he hands to Lady Hamilton and two swords, which he keeps for himself. Abigail almost wishes he’d hand her one, but her hands still shake and she doubts she’d be able to hold it steady.

They leave the house and her father’s body and Abigail doesn’t look back. 

Not out of choice, but because the streets are filled with mad men. That’s what Abigail tells herself as they run along the alleys and back passages, Flint cutting down anyone who dares come near them. They must be mad, for only a mad person would ever consider eating another person. 

They run and all she can hear are the screams. 

The screams of the frightened, then the screams of the dying, and soon Abigail realises that when the screams fade that the real terror begins.

That’s when the dead walk again and they no longer scream, but breath still rattles in their bodies and it sounds like the damned would sound as they try to escape hell.

* * *

Charles Town burns.

* * *

But not right away.

* * *

Captain Flint, Lady Hamilton (‘Dear, you really must call me Miranda at this point in our acquaintance’) and Abigail make it to the harbour, then across the bay to the warship that looms in the dark. When they reach the ship, Abigail hears the ring of swords and shouts of men. She also hears that rasp of something not quite like breath in men’s bodies.

Flint hands her a sword and says, “Use it on anyone you think should be dead.”

It’s much, much later that she allows herself to laugh at his advice.

By the time they board, she sees that Charles Vane and his men have boarded sometime in the night and they fight alongside Flint’s men against crew who have gone mad like the residents of Charles Town.

Abigail uses her sword only once against a smaller man who staggers up to her, his mouth open and his skin turning ashen. She stabs him in the throat and he falls, thick ichor polls around him and Miranda pulls her away. The sword remains in the sailor’s body.

Eventually, the ship falls silent and everyone looks to Flint and Vane as they stare at one another.

At long last, Flint says, “You attempted to board my ship and murder my crew and some day, quite soon, I will have something to say about that.”

“But not tonight?” Vane asks, his voice as deep and matter-of-fact as it had been in Abigail’s cell.

“But not tonight,” Flint says. “Tonight, we burn Charles Town to the ground with the devils it spawned.”

Vane nods.

“Ready the cannons,” Flint growls. He glances at Miranda and she pulls Abigail towards the captain’s quarters.

“No,” Abigail says stopping her with a squeeze of her hand. “I want to watch.”

Miranda eyes her briefly and then nods. They find a corner out of the way of the men and when the cannons fire, Abigail jumps and longs to press her hands over her ears.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she watches Charles Town, the place she’d travelled so far, had endured so much to reach in order to be with the father she’d missed, as it burns, turning the night sky red.

She doesn’t cry.

There isn’t time.

* * *

Whatever the sickness is, it spreads.

Quickly.

Devastatingly.

A body doesn’t even need to be bitten to become sick.

The combined crews lose fifty-six men in the span of two weeks. Not all of them come back, some of them simply fall ill and then pass.

Abigail’s kept from it all the first day; sequestered away in the captain’s quarters. But on the second day, she ties her hair back and steps onto the deck. Her eyes travel over everyone as she tries to figure out how best to help. Unable to determine where she should go, she walks over to someone who can.

Billy Bones stands tall amongst the crew. Not only in terms of his size, but with his ability and currently, his unfailing good health. Abigail walks up to him and he glances at her once, and then twice.

“Miss Ashe,” he says. “You should be-“

“Some place that I can be of help,” she says. “What needs doing?”

He stares and then rubs a hand over his eyes. “Doc Howell’s over run below decks tending to the men and I know that there’s nothing in the way of clean linens. Have you ever laundered anything?”

“My own clothes on the voyage over,” she says.

“Good enough. Follow me.”

Miranda is already below, assisting where she can, and Abigail spots a dagger tucked into a sash. 

_To stop the bad ones from rising again,_ a thought whispers in her mind.

Miranda looks over and when she sees Abigail, she starts and heads over.

“My dear, you shouldn’t-“

“Be locked away in a room where my still functioning two hands are going to waste?” Abigail says. “Yes, you’re quite correct. Mr Bones, where should I start?”

Billy stares at her and then back at Miranda, before he says, “Doc!”

There’s a mutter and a crash, then a muffled, “Fuck. Yeah, what?”

“I’ve got two hands here that need work, where do you want her?” Billy yells back.

“Over here,” is the reply. There’s a pause before, Doc Howell calls back, “Did you say ‘her’?”

Billy chuckles and jerks his head towards the far end of the room. “Anything goes wrong, you shout for me, all right?”

Abigail nods. “Thank you, Mr Bones.”

“Billy,” he says. “No need to stand on ceremony with the dead walking the earth, yeah?”

“In that case,” she says. “It’s Abigail.”

He nods and then he’s gone, back above. Abigail glances at Miranda who regards Abigail with a serene smile.

“It won’t be easy,” she says.

“Nothing is these days,” Abigail replies.

“Very true,” Miranda says. “Be careful, my dear.”

“You, as well,” Abigail says and on an impulse, she presses a quick kiss to Miranda’s cheek, and then goes in search of Doc Howell.

The next two weeks are a blur of blood and bile and death. 

The disease travels fast and every time they put into port, they see examples of it and Abigail can sense the fear in the men of what they might find the closer they get to Nassau.

When the smell of smoke and burning bodies reaches them before they even see the island, everyone’s hope fades.

But because Nassau has already weathered storm after storm, it still stands. Barely. But it still stands.

Somehow through the tight grip of Max, Jack Rackham and others, and despite the disappearance of Eleanor Guthrie, it stands. Not without several casualties, but it stands.

Abigail watches with blood-stained skirts and burning eyes from lack of sleep as the men hurry about, bringing the warship into port and she wonders what she’s going to do next.

 _Survive_ , a voice whispers to her. _You’re going to survive._

* * *

Once on land, the assorted captains and their associates locked themselves away in the rooms above the bar, but Abigail follows Idelle to the sick rooms. She’s learned that she’s decent at this kind of work. She eases as many as she can back to health and the others, well, she eases onwards somewhere else. 

The days pass and Abigail is relegated to Doc Howell’s side. She’s discovered that she has a firmer stomach than most and to no one’s surprise, the men react better to a soft voice and so she tends to those who fall ill and the ones that get well thank her for her help.

The ones who die… Well…

The ‘turn’, as they’ve taken to calling it, happens quickly. Once the body dies, there’s a lag of close to ten seconds between their death and their return. Abigail learns the hard way with one of Max’s girls to never go past the count of ten.

On the breath after ten, the knife must be slipped into the temple quickly. 

She learns how to use the dagger she’d seen in Miranda’s sash on her second day on the island and by the fifth day, she doesn’t mind it so much.

Doc Howell comes and goes. Miranda comes and goes, entreating Abigail to rest. She tries. Most of the time, she sleeps without dreaming. Other times, she wakes, a scream bubbling behind her lips.

She finds a routine in the sick room and keeps her eyes open. Not just for the sick, but on the captains. Something’s brewing amongst them. Sometimes she sees Billy looking at Captain Flint and Mr Silver with a worried expression. Other times, she notices Captain Vane looking at Billy. One day, she sees them watching each other and she wonders… But there’s a cry from one of the sick, and Abigail bustles off, but the looks on the men’s faces doesn’t ever leave her.

* * *

“We’re out of sheets,” Idelle calls out, her hands on her hips.

Abigail stands from where she’s just stopped a young man from turning. Absently, she wipes her knife on the sheet where the man lies and then rubs her forehead with the back of her hand. She catches Idelle’s eyes and the other woman glances at the man on the bed.

“Fuck,” she says flatly. “He was a decent sort, too. Never rushed matters and always paid. Fuck.”

“What was his name?” Abigail asks.

Idelle frowns in thought, and then nods. “Marcus. I think.”

Abigail nods and looks at the shelves. “Sheets, you said?”

“Yeah,” she says. “You go. You look like you could use a minute away.”

“Thank you,” Abigail replies, trying to smile.

Idelle shrugs. “I’ll do the next one.”

Abigail slips her knife into her belt and heads towards the laundry room.

Large sheets, still damp and smelling of lye, drape over ropes extended across the ceiling. She goes towards the driest bunch and pulls them down, one after the other, the easy motion and quiet giving her a few moments of peace.

Something clatters to the ground behind her. She drops the sheets as she whips around, her hand pulling her knife from her belt. 

A figure lurches towards her, breath rasping in its dead lungs. She winces at the blank look and the fresh bite wound on the man’s neck. Her eyes dart between the dead man and the exit he blocks. Her heart beats faster and she holds out her knife, eyes darting all around the room for another weapon.

 _I will not die like this,_ she thinks wildly. _I will not die like my father!_

The dead man’s hand catches on a sheet and it flutters to the ground. Abigail stares for a moment, then acts quickly.

She darts behind a sheet and when the dead man follows her, he walks into the sheet. She can see the gnashing of his teeth through the fabric and when his arm extends past the sheet, she just moves backwards. The dead man follows and the sheet wraps tightly around his face.

In as fast a move that she can make, she dodges his arm and stabs her knife into the side of his head; into the spot she’s spent the last two weeks learning in precise detail.

The dead man stills, hovers mid-groan, then crumples to the floor. The sheet flutters to the ground over his body.

Abigail watches the body for a moment, and when she’s certain it won’t be moving ever again, she sobs a little in relief.

She heaves breath after breath as she stares down at the body in its very own shroud. Killing someone, despite the fact that they’ve already died once before, is quite different when they’re moving about. Her hands shake and she grips her knife to stop their trembling.

Footsteps outside the room has her straightening and she holds out her knife.

“Abigail? Are you still in here – oh!” Miranda enters and presses a hand to her chest as she looks at the body on the floor and then at Abigail. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” she replies. “I mean, I’m not bitten.” She looks down at the body. “I stopped him.”

Miranda nods. “Good. Come. We’ll get someone to clean this up.”

Abigail glances at the body once more and then follows Miranda out of the room. They run into Captain Flint, Mr Silver, Billy and Captain Vane in the foyer.

Billy glances at her and his eyes widen as his gaze flicks down to her knife still clutched in her hand. 

“You all right?” he asks.

She nods. “I don’t know if you’re still considering posting guards around the sick rooms, but a dead man made his way into the drying room.”

“Is he still there?” Billy asks and she notices that the others are watching.

“His body is,” Abigail says. “He won’t be getting up again, though. I made sure of that.”

“With that little penknife?” Vane asks nodding at her small dagger.

“It’s all I had,” she says frowning.

He gives her a flat look and takes a cutlass from his belt and hands it to her.

She takes it, her hand drooping under the weight. “Thank you?”

“Don’t thank me yet, girl,” he says drawing his other sword. “If you’re going to be taking on the walking dead and not just the sleeping ones, you’ll need something with more reach than that penknife. Now, hold it up.”

She holds it up.

There’s a sharp sting on the back of her hand and the cutlass clatters to the ground.

She pulls her hand to her chest and stares at Vane, who’s just rapped her knuckles with his sword.

They stare at one another until the corner of his mouth flickers a bit. “Pick it up,” he says with a shrug.

Abigail picks it up.

There’s another sharp sting and the cutlass clatters once more to the floor.

“Pick it up,” he says once again.

“I don’t think -“ Flint says, but Miranda lays a hand on his arm and he falls silent. Abigail looks to Miranda and she just nods.

Abigail picks it up.

The sequence of events continues another four times, but on the fifth, when the sharp rap comes, the cutlass stays in her hand.

Vane nods. “Good. I’ll teach you the next move tomorrow. But first.” He jerks his head at Billy. “His turn.”

Billy stares at Vane and then at Abigail. She smiles, straightens her shoulders, and points the cutlass at him.

Billy chuckles and shakes his head, but draws his sword.

His raps are heavier on her knuckles, but she knows what to expect so she only drops the cutlass three times.

* * *

Lessons with Billy and Vane (‘Fuck’s sake, girl, I held you prisoner; Charles is fine.’) become the bright spot of Abigail’s day.

“Why?” she asks at the end of one session. “Why are you teaching me?”

Charles looks at her. “Because you want to learn. And because you want to live.”

She glances at Billy who nods as he says, “And because we want to teach you.”

“And because _you_ want me to live?” she asks.

“Thought that went without saying, girl,” Charles says leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

She smiles. “Just wanted to be utterly clear on the matter, that’s all.”

He nods. “We’re clear. Now, get Billy to drop his sword. Any way you can.”

* * *

The peace in town, such as it is, is disturbed one night. Everyone has been waiting for the plantations of the interior to make some kind of move on Nassau, and when it finally comes, it’s dreadful.

It’s a horde. A horde of the dead carted to the town’s edge and set free.

Abigail remains in the sick rooms, with Miranda, Max, Idelle, and some of the other ladies and children. She’s armed with a pistol and her sword and vibrates with nerves. Miranda is calm and collected by her side.

“How are you so calm?” she asks after a while, listening to the shouts outside.

“I honestly don’t know,” Miranda says. “Perhaps because a part of me still believes I’m in some terrible dream.” She sighs. “The worst has already happened to me and I survived it. I’ll survive this, too.”

“So will I,” Abigail says. “I hope. There’s so very much I haven’t done yet.”

Miranda smiles and opens her mouth to say something, but there’s a heavy crash outside the room and the ladies look at one another. In a single movement, they aim their pistols at the door.

When it opens, the dead are greeted by gunfire.

The night drags ever onwards and Abigail’s still standing and fighting as best she can. She’s in the foyer just outside the sick rooms, keeping the dead away from the children and wounded. 

The living are winning, she thinks, but it’s still a terrible sight to see so many dead pile up on the floor. Her sword is black with blood and sweat streams down her face.

The men have finally joined them, having cleared the rest of the city and she catches sight of Billy, a sword in each hand, easily taking the dead down. Charles is nearby, along with Jack and others, and they cut a swathe through the dead.

Abigail yells when she sees one of the dead fall onto Charles, dragging him down to the floor.

Teeth sink in Vane’s hand and he growls, even as he decapitates the dead man.

“No!” Abigail shouts when Vane immediately pulls his pistol from his belt and aims it at his head. “Billy! His hand!”

“What?” Billy shouts and everyone looks at her, including Vane, whose finger twitches on the trigger.

“The infection will spread, but not if there’s nothing to spread to,” she says. “Take his hand!”

His eyes turn to Vane who stares at Abigail, something like hope in his eyes.

“Do it, Billy,” she said calmly, tearing at her apron, readying it to wrap Charles’ arm.

“Fuck,” Billy says, his eyes wild and his face a rictus of disgust.

“Do it, Bones,” Vane says through gritted teeth, finally looking at Billy. “Do it.”

“Fuck!” Billy yells and he does it.

* * *

Charles lives.

He’s watched carefully for two days and on the third, he fashions a brace for his hand that a knife can attach to. He’s still deadly and therefore no one dares to say anything. Abigail thought he’d avoid her in the aftermath, but his lessons continue and she’s even caught him smiling on the odd occasion.

One day, as she’s cleaning the wound, he finally speaks of it.

“Tell Bones he has a strong swing,” he says as she reapplies clean linen to the still healing wound.

“You can’t tell him yourself?” she asks, pinning the linen in place.

“He’s avoiding me.”

“I suspect he feels guilty,” she says. “As I do.”

His remaining hand covers hers where it cradles his arm and she meets his eyes. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t waste guilt on a thing that had to be done. And tell Bones the same.”

“I will,” she says. “When I find him.”

“Avoiding you, too?”

“Hmm,” she says finishing her task.

“Foolish boy,” he says as his hand falls to cup her elbow, steadying her as she rises. Jack and Anne come in and Abigail nods to them as she takes her leave. She pauses at the door when he calls, “Girl. Tell him soon. I need someone to spar with.”

She smiles a little and ducks out of the room. After stopping briefly in the sick rooms, she goes in search of Billy. Abigail finally tracks him down by the docks hauling rope.

“Are you done being ridiculous?” she asks in greeting.

He glares at her. “Abigail. Don’t.”

“You saved his life,” she says stepping in close.

“I took his fucking hand,” he retorts.

“Did you not hear me? You may have taken his ‘fucking hand’ but you saved his fucking life,” she says. He looks at her and she smiles a little. “He doesn’t hate you, you know. If anything, he respects you even more.”

“The man’s mad,” he says snorting.

“So are you,” she counters. “You took his fucking hand.”

He stares at her and then laughs. “Christ, Abigail. You’re the maddest of all of us, it was your bloody idea in the first place!”

“And I’d suggest it again,” she says. “Most of you is better than none of you.” He studies her and a flush rises in her cheeks. “Now. Please turn up for my lesson later today?”

“I’ll try,” he says.

She nods. “Good.”

“You’re…” He shakes his head. “You’re something, Abigail Ashe.”

“I’m just me,” she says frowning.

“I know. And you’re something, Abigail,” he says. She freezes in place when his eyes meet hers, and she cannot look away. She feels his hand take hold of hers and she still cannot look away from his gaze. He lifts her hand up and without removing his eyes from hers, he presses his lips to the inside of her wrist, directly over her thrumming pulse.

Her lips part and he smiles. “Be seeing you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes and he squeezes her hand, and then he’s off.

Her wrist tingles for the rest of the day.

Later, she sees them sparring once again, and it’s close match. But as always, Charles wins. When they stop, he cups the back of Billy’s head and pulls the other man close. Abigail’s breath catches as they press their foreheads together. Something tender passes between them as they close their eyes and Billy’s posture relaxes totally.

Feeling peculiar and as though she’s trespassing, Abigail starts to leave.

“And where are you off to?” Charles’ voice calls after her.

She stops and turns. They’re looking at her with matching expressions of…fondness? Perhaps? They’re still remarkably close to one another, and ignoring her trembling hands, she steps forward.

“You two were making peace with one another. I didn’t want to intrude,” she says.

“Well, considering you’re the reason we’re both here, there’s no intrusion,” Billy says finally stepping away from Charles. “Now. Show us what you know.”

And just like that, things settle down in her stomach and she lifts her sword. But the moment she witnessed, along with the feelings it stirred, lingers in her mind.

* * *

“I’m not unaware that the majority of the gentlemen we are acquainted with have a very single-minded purpose,” Miranda says as she pours tea for Abigail, Max and herself. “But I had no idea they were so blind to the practical.”

“Indeed,” Max says. “What is the saying? They cannot see the forest for the trees?” She shakes her head. “We will have to see it for them. I’ve ensured that we have lines of communication open with some in the interior who can bring us supplies.”

“Can they be trusted?” Miranda asks. “After the other night...”

Max nods. “They are no friend of the plantation owners, they will help. As for the short term, what is needed in the sick rooms?”

“Linens,” Abigail says immediately. “Along with people to dig graves when we need them. I fear it will be some time before we won’t need them standing by.” She sips her tea, feeling a mixture of pride that she’s been asked to attend this meeting and worry for the future if they cannot hold the city. “A steady supply of fresh water, along with something that can clean the floors thoroughly. More camomile and valerian root, as opposed to the rum we currently use.”

The other ladies look at her, and she explains, “They’re far more calming than alcohol and keep the sick quiet. The alcohol often stirs them too much and inhibits their healing process.”

“They won’t like you taking away their drink,” Max says. 

“I’m not calling for complete prohibition,” Abigail says. “Only a smaller supply, with an abundance of an alternative. The rum can become an incentive for healing, as opposed to something they come to expect.”

“It will bring a bit more order to the place,” Miranda adds.

Max inclines her head. “I will see what can be done. Onto other matters...”

Discussion continues for a while longer, and Abigail listens closely as they discuss fortifying the city boundaries and which shops have fallen empty. Once they’ve exhausted their agenda, Miranda sets her cup down and glances at Max, who nods.

“I’d like to move onto more personal matters,” Miranda says as she looks at Abigail. “I’ll speak plainly, my dear. Do you need any education in regards to intimate relations with men?”

Abigail’s eyes widen and her cheeks burn. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been spending time in the company of Billy Bones,” Max says. “As well as Charles Vane. Two men who are most pleasing to the eye and, while I’m aware that Mr Bones has a more celibate nature, neither of them are strangers to, shall we say, having their needs met?”

“I don’t...” Abigail sets her cup down with a clatter. “Are you suggesting they would _take_ … No, no, they would never-”

“We’re not suggesting that at all,” Miranda says laying a hand on Abigail’s arm. “I don’t believe they would force you into anything you had no desire to participate in. I’m suggesting that, perhaps, _you_ may be the one with the desires.”

The memories of watching the two men stand close together, the feel of Billy’s lips on her hand and Charles’ fingers cupping her elbow, flash through Abigail’s mind and she bites her lip.

“I would hardly know where to start,” she says slowly, wishing she could press the backs of her hands to her flaming cheeks, but also curious to learn more. “In any case, I don’t believe they regard me in such a fashion.”

“I would beg to differ,” Max says with a smile. “But no matter. For someone else may come along who does regard you in such a way and you return their regard. I’ve learned that it is never a bad thing to have knowledge to draw upon.”

Abigail glances at Miranda who smiles a little as she says, “I agree. There are many things I learned through trial and error and if we can ease the way for you, we will.”

She looks between the two women she has grown very fond of and considers the practicality of their offer. She also considers the way she feels when the men move close to her and the fantasies she’s entertained alone in the dark before she falls asleep. Abigail slowly nods. 

“Tell me everything.”

* * *

It’s on Charles third wince that Abigail drops her cutlass and says, “Will you let me clean it, please?”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Pick it up.”

“It’s not nothing,” she says. “You’re in pain and you don’t have to be. I need to make sure you haven’t overdone things and caused an infection.”

“Since when are you a doctor?”

“Fuck’s sake, Vane, let her look at your damn arm,” Billy says from his place leant against the wall. “I don’t want to have to cut more off you if I don’t have to.”

Abigail hides a smile as Charles glares at Billy; but Charles sighs and takes the brace off his arm. She carefully pulls the linen clean and winces.

“You’ve a small sore, just where the edge of the brace rubs against your arm,” she says. “But it’s not at the stump.” She glances at Charles. “Would you be amenable to not wearing it for the next day or two?”

“No.”

“How about for the next hour?” she asks.

“Suppose so.”

“Christ, you’re a stubborn one,” Billy says.

“And you fucking aren’t?” Charles says as Abigail rolls her eyes.

“You’re both ridiculous,” she says, before she points at Billy, “and don’t think I haven’t noticed that gash on your shoulder. It’s next on my list.”

“Yes ma’am,” Billy says grinning and Charles snorts.

“What am I to do with you two?” she says with a sigh and smile. “Right. Sit down.”

The men exchange an amused glance that Abigail ignores in favour of collecting her small satchel of supplies that she never goes anywhere without. Both men sit against the wall, leaving a space between them for her. She pauses briefly, then facing them, she kneels down between them.

She tends to Charles' arm first, simply cleaning the wound and making sure the stump is free of infection. She turns a little to see Billy’s shoulder and when she wobbles a little, Charles moves closer to her, his hand resting on her hip.

Abigail swallows and when she darts a look at Billy, he’s staring at her; blue eyes utterly guileless. She cleans his gash.

“How’d you manage this?” she asks, needing to fill the space with something.

“Sharp bit of wood in the rigging,” he says shuffling closer to her so she can reach easily.

Charles’ hand squeezes her side gently and bites her lip as she ties a bit of linen around Billy’s upper arm.

Snippets of her conversation with Miranda and Max fly through her head and when Billy reaches up and tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear, she asks, “Are you two lovers?” 

They both still on either side of her, and she sees them exchange a glance.

“What?” Billy says eventually.

“Are you lovers?” she repeats, because in for a penny, in for a pound as she’s been told.

“And just what do you know about that sort of thing?” Charles asks, and oh heavens, he’s suddenly much closer than he’d been previously, his voice low next to her ear.

“Not much,” she says. “But some.”

“Do you think we should be?” Charles asks, his nose brushes against her neck. 

“If you wish to be,” she says, “I don’t see why you shouldn’t be.”

Billy snorts, but Charles continues, “And if we are lovers?”

“Then I’d be happy for you,” she says softly. “And I’d keep out of it, for truly, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked, it just came out.”

“And if we wanted to make it your business?” Charles asks and now his mouth makes contact with her throat and Abigail shivers.

She meets Billy’s eyes as Charles kisses the length of her throat, and Billy smiles a little, before he leans in and brushes his lips over her mouth.

“Up to you, sweetheart,” he says against her lips. “But life’s turned out to be awful short these days. We’re not looking to have any regrets.”

“No regrets?” she murmurs back, her eyes slipping closed as Billy moves his mouth from her lips to the curve of her jaw. “I already made up my mind to survive all of this. I rather like the idea of not allowing any room for regrets.”

She reaches out and her hands find a place against two steady heartbeats and she smiles.


End file.
